


burning beacons: the cassleia collection

by cassandor



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Character Study, Childhood Friends, Don’t copy to another site, F/M, Light Angst, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Cassian Andor, POV Leia Organa, Post-War, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fill, Romantic Fluff, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-11-15 23:09:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18082733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassandor/pseuds/cassandor
Summary: All of my prompt fills for Cassian x Leia. Automatically assumes a smaller age gap, and is always appropriate for their age.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon asked "secret signs of affection"

Cassian is a lowly spy, a traitorous murderer, in his mind - a boy who tries to be forgotten, from a forgotten planet, with things he wants to forget.

Leia is sole heiress to the one of the richest planets in the richest part of the galaxy, and one of the most recognized faces of the Rebellion he so dutifully, wholly, serves. At once, the Separatist freedom fighter hates what the Princess represents, and the rebel operative would willingly lay down his life for her single word.

To navigate a relationship in those murky waters is tricky, for fear of losing his heart and ability to renounce everything for a mission, for fear of distracting the one being who cannot afford to be distracted. 

They cannot afford love, they cannot afford their affection to be seen.

It’s small acts of kindness, then, an encouraging word here or there, the most fleeting of smiles and subtle nods. Discreetly supporting each other through a few well-chosen words in a heated argument across the War Room table. They’re young, the two of them, younger than most who can access these High Command meetings, so more often than not do they figuratively watch each other’s backs. He’d thought her to be naive once, and she once had been, in that idealistic way of a girl who’d never known war. He’s learned, though, watching her from Bail’s side, and knows what she is capable of. She sees him, and she might be the only person who doesn’t know him that does. There has to be a reason, she thinks. 

While she’s young, she chirps at him in High Alderaani and he responds in kind, bowing his head to her laughter when he makes a mistake, then smiling when she offers to help him. Then she’s too old to be chatting with boys like him, but whenever he’s reviewing meeting notes and sees messages scrawled in Aurebesh but written in the language few of them share, he knows she’s left them for him.

Alderaan happens.

He’s afraid to go close to her, for fear of shattering an already cracked psyche. He loves her from afar - while others crowd around to share her sympathies and words of advice, they sit in silence together amid the glow of screens blue, green, red. There she can cry without someone hovering over her shoulder, and when she feels she’s had enough there’s a kerchief and a thermos of hot water waiting for her. Silent, knowing support has always been his greatest gift to her. She appreciates it, more than anything else she’s been offered. She knows his door is always open for her, but doesn’t have the strength to cross the threshold.

She does, eventually. 

They’re caught in the web of being  _together_  but being unable to be open about it. Stolen moments, lasting as long as wisps of breath last in Hoth’s frigid corridors. It takes him some time to realize why the quartermaster always has what he needs, or why the better food options always arrive right when he comes back from a mission. He doesn’t appreciate people being in his room or touching his things while he’s gone, but he caves when she asks, and comes back to freshly laundered sheets that smell like mountain air. She comes back to gentle arms and solid advice - when she asks for it, or otherwise he’ll sit and listen and she’ll hurl all her frustrations and confusion at him until the answer smacks her in the face.

At least that’s one thing that’s never changed. 

Pecks on the forehead, on knuckles. More adventurous kisses when Cassian’s checked all the locks and tricked all the holocams. During missions with her he’s as recognizable as a sheet of ice, but afterwards in the rush of relief is the only time where they have some space to themselves. More exploration of what they want from each other. More confessions of what they’re afraid of, and more recently, what they’re hoping for. Hugs when he comes back, hidden in the shadows where nobody sees - or whoever does, knows the pain of separation and keeps it to themselves. He braids and undoes her hair with the careful steadiness he does everything with. Learns to cook Alderaani style. She can’t do much other than tend to wounds and plan his days out for him, pampered Princess she once was. But she can ensure he knows he’s being heard and is valued as a _person,_  not just a weapon.

The war ends.

Later, much later, she’ll come back to hot caf or flowers waiting on her office desk. Later, he’ll find her stretching all her resources to find the right home for him. A window like a sniper’s perch, plenty of hiding spots, and excellent view lines, anything she can do to soothe a former soldier’s anxieties. Droids to tinker with, laws to mull over, anything to keep him busy and involved.

He finds her things from Alderaan. She finds him things from Fest. Sometimes they share laughter after the realization some are fakes or completely mislabeled. Sometimes they cry together over what’s been lost.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome asked "They both complain about the blandness of some official meal and sneak off for good local food on whatever planet they're on!"

Peace is as foreign to Cassian as the menu. 

Leia uses the term often, as do her peers. Convinced - or convincing - the flower has blossomed, their rewards reaped. Gently like a lullaby, loudly as a proclamation.

He feels the frost deep in the soil. 

Once, the galaxy accepted the eternal winter as their fate. Once, he and Leia and so many others believed it could be thawed by the heat of their own lives set aflame. 

Now, the galaxy believes it to be spring. Flowers in bloom, coming to fruition like the slices of fruit on the ornate dish before him. 

Cassian knows rot, more often than not, comes from within. Leia agrees - it’s hardly a question, between them. It’s the truth, wrought from years of facing horrors unknown to most at this lofty table. That truth runs in her, his, their blood, their fates. 

She’s told him she feels the frost too.

To the dignitaries seated around them, Leia speaks of war in the past tense, assuring them the galaxy will only know peace from now on. The sweetness of the fruit filling his mouth laces her words, tenses her smile as she asks:

“Isn’t it so, Cassian?”

He dabs his mouth at a napkin before replying.

“Indeed.” 

In that split moment, a droid swoops in and pulls his plate out from underneath him. Cassian’s stomach sinks at the leafy greens still dotting the droid’s tray as it rolls away. 

The juxtaposition of that still-full plate and the lives they’re hoping to save sours in his mouth. He knows what the duties of a silver-tongued politician are, knows what half-truths he’s spewed himself.

Still, the unease drenches him in waves. Hadn’t Fest been a warzone long before the Separatists set foot on its snowcapped peaks? Hadn’t Tatooine been a hive for slavery right under the Republic’s nose? Hadn’t Bail Organa, Padme Amidala, Jeron Andor - even some Jedi, some say - been resisting the Emperor long before the latter donned that title? 

Coruscant, Kashyykk, even Fest may be free now, but those at the edges are most vulnerable to frost.

Leia catches his gaze from across the table as he reaches for the pitcher of ice-water. Her reflection wobbles through the frosted container, still smiling at the Senator seated beside her.

His sip of water is cold, but it’s warmth that fills him instead.

This isn’t any different from what he’s always done. Exchanging half truths for the greater good. Buttering up the highest political class like the bread roll in Leia’s hands means they’ll be more willing to support their causes later. Weapons traded for clean water. Schoolbooks instead of shells. Medics instead of stormtroopers. 

If the elite still thinks there’s a war to profit from, then all their support will be for that war, instead of preventing the next one.

Cassian takes a deep breath, smiles at Senator Miriza across from him.

“Cheers,” Leia lifts her glass brimming with sapphire, “to a better future.”

“Cheers!”

It’s with quelled nervousness that Cassian digs into his plate. The mashed tubers are light and fluffy and far prettier than any similar dish Cassian’s ever seen. He nibbles the scoop of clouds. Leia mirrors him, sticking her fork through an assortment of roasted vegetables.

Cassian has to appreciate how Leia keeps her face from changing. His throat tightens around the mouthful, eyes dipping away from Sir Huryon’s animated gesturing to search the table from the shaker this meal so desperately needs.

He can’t find it. None of the species at the table would be offended by the presence of salt– he’d seen peace negotiations toppled by a few misplaced grains of the substance – so there was no reason for its disappearance, not with this many Humans at their table, not on this planet famed for its spices.

“Quite delicious, isn’t it?” Miriza asks brightly, their eyes twinkling.

Cassian smiles and nods, reaching to take a bite of his bread roll. Doused in salted butter, it’s evidently the most seasoned item on his plate.

At least the salad dressing had flavour.

On the other side of the table, Leia meets his eyes and smiles before a long sip from her wine glass, long enough Cassian recognizes it as an exasperated swig.

_Karking hells._

He’s spent too much of his life pushing hunger out of his mind to not do the same with taste. After all, the stuff they’d served in the Alliance mess tasted not quite different from this.

At least that had been priced accordingly.

Still, the food is fresh and free from contamination, so he has no reason to complain.

He scrapes his plate clean, in between polite conversation and watching flocks of birds swirl past the open window, blotting out the midday sun.

Hopefully, dinner with Leia will be better.

* * *

Cassian’s stalking around their quarters – apartment, he catches himself – fiddling with a rather stubborn line of code when he almost walks right into Leia.

“Headed out?” He regards her, allowing a quizzical expression to materialize and stay on his face.

Leia chuckles, tugging a scarf over her head and pulling down around her neck. He grins.

“Our  _fine accommodations_  will deliver room service just as tasty as the lunch one they provided,” she explains, stepping towards the mirror by their door. “Everything a Coruscanti girl desires - if that’s okay with you?”

“That is incredibly not okay with me. Not for that price.”

He steps in place behind her shoulder, watching her reflection. Watching her. She fiddles with a few loose strands of hair. Enchanted, he marvels at the sheer variety of styles the Alderaani have at their fingertips. Dark hair spilling over the multicoloured stitches of the scarf is quickly tucked into the braid crowning the top of her head. Cassian finds himself drawn to the line of her neck still peeking above the scarf, and the remaining waves cascading down her shoulders to her waist.

A flowery scent wafts to his nose – he’s close enough to wrap his arms around her, pull her to his chest. Perhaps  _room service_  isn’t that terrible of an idea. Cassian’s tempted to lean forward and whisper the suggestion against the patch of skin still visible by her ear, then decides against it.  

“I do like this, though.”

“Which?”

 _You,_  he thinks, and smiles gently.

“The hair. You’ve let most of it down.”

“Yeah, well, everyone seems to recognize me when it’s up.”

Her reflection’s gaze meet his, and Cassian holds them together until she reaches for her bag. He turns to their closet at the sound of her bag unzipping. Flicking through his variety of coats, he checks them against that evening’s forecasted balmy weather, and settles on his thin brown jacket.

He turns and regards Leia who’s counting credit chips in her palm. “I already got us actual credits,” she says once she’s finished, putting them back in her shoulder bag.

Cassian fidgets under the brunt of her gaze.

“I like that jacket on you,” she murmurs, reaching up to fix his turned-out collar.

“This old thing? I wear it everywhere!”

Incredulous, he pats down the front of it as if an answer will materialize from the synthfabric. Leia merely shrugs.

“You’re comfortable in it, and your worry lines go away when you’re comfortable.”

Cassian raises his eyebrows.

“Intelligence missed out on a good agent.”

“I learned from the best,” she replies, joviality creeping into her tone but not her deadpan expression. Heat rises to his face.

He raises a hand.

“Shall we head on out?”

She takes it.

The streets around their hotel buzz with late evening activity. Tourists walk about, children running around their feet as they snap holos at monuments and landmarks. Bright, flashing signs begin to flicker on as the system’s star grazes the horizon. Cassian initially expected Leia to take them into one of the restaurants just by the hotel, but her plans are elsewhere.

“There’s a street market just back here,” Leia explains. “I looked it up. This part of the city’s mostly for tourists.”

Cassian just nods, taking in the sights and sounds around them. She’s led them to an avenue far enough that their hotel is just a blotch in the distance. The sun’s just kissed the horizon, rending the cobblestone street into blushing gold. Here, they’re just another couple among the others on an evening stroll, away from the steady thrum of traffic abovehead. There are still shopkeepers vying for their attention, but instead of large stores they’re squished into small blocks. Several street vendors dotting their path.

If he hadn’t known there were still places like this left in the galaxy, he’d be in shock. He still is – perhaps because he’s allowed to just wander, not evade or seek - until Leia squeezes his hand.

“So, where do you want to eat?”

“You didn’t look it up?”

“I don’t think the stands show up on HoloNet searches. Some of them only just came back after they were freed from occupation.”

Cassian sniffs, the fresh air now carrying the scent of sizzling street fare, and his stomach rumbles. Loudly. He freezes mid step, and Leia tugs on his hand.

“Sorry?”

“Mine’s been growling for the entire walk, I’m not sure how you didn’t notice,” Leia says, half laughing. “Close your eyes.”

He does. “What for?”

“Point somewhere and we’ll go to that stall.”

Inevitably, the scene before his closed eyes springs to his mind. Calls of vendors, children’s laughter, the clang of knives against steel all clues to the picture. Shadows to hide in, roofs to lay against.

It doesn’t matter where they go, though, so he raises his hand and points.

Leia tugs him along and he stumbles behind her, opening his eyes to her broad smile. They stop at a stall, the hum of its repulsor drowned out by oil hissing as vegetables are tossed into pans.

“Two plates of those, please,” Leia says, pointing to one of the pictures on the display. The girl behind the counter nods, already pouring out batter onto a hot pan. A younger boy chirps the price from behind the cashier, and Leia opens her bag.

“Aren’t you in school?” Cassian frowns.

“I am, we just let out. I’m helping sissy.” The boy grins at him, gap toothed. The scraping of a spatula follows the thwack of the flat cakes being flipped, the aroma of seared onions and peppers filling the air.

“Studying well?”

“I am.”

“You sound like an old aunty,” Leia chides Cassian, reaching past him to hand the boy the credits. “Keep the change,” she winks, “get yourself a treat.”

Cassian only caught a glimpse of her handful, but already knows what she’s calling  _change_  is enough to spare the boy from shop duties for at least a week. His sister didn’t seem the type to let him off the hook of responsibility so easily, so he smiles at her when she hands him the two plates.

“You too.”

Cassian hands Leia her plate and they walk towards a nearby bench. Twilight surrounds them, and they sit under the light of a street lamp. Cassian methodically tears a piece. The golden brown crackles under his fingertips as it comes apart, leaving oil clinging to his skin. Dipping it into the ground chilli paste scooped on the corner of his plate, he studies the flecks of colour dotting the circular dish. Onion, tomato, a sprinkle of coriander, and what he suspects are thinly sliced chillies.

“It’s hot,” Leia warns, already having taken a bite.

“Temperature hot or spicy hot?”

“Both, but… picante-hot,” she clarifies, tentatively slipping into the language of their childhoods. A rare occurrence – less so, now that they’ve shared both the silent terrors of the night and the soft quiet under covers before dawn. “Shavit. Shaaavit…”

“Too spicy?”

“I can handle it, thanks.” As if proving a point, Leia tears off a larger piece and scoops up an sizeable amount of the coconut-chilli.

“Lei.”

“What,” she replies around a mouthful, and Cassian has to grin at the contrast between this woman and the Senator he’d ate lunch with. Leia’s knee bumps up against Cassian’s, and seeing her bathed in the buzzing gold streetlight, Cassian feels a better sort of warmth.

“When was the last time you ate something with chillies in it?”

“When was the last time you cooked something with chillies in it?” she retorts. Too long, he realizes, and considering Leia was still reliant on his cooking, it was doubly true for her.

“ _Lei.”_

She doesn’t look at him when he offers her the bottle from her own shoulder bag, but takes it from him. He doesn’t laugh, but evidenced by Leia’s glare his amusement clearly reaches his eyes. He continues eating with relish, the heat of the vegetables and chillies enveloped in crispy fried dough a welcome change from the despairingly bland meals they’ve been served on this visit. Why beings insisted on offering bland food to offworlders was beyond him. Perhaps it was a holdover from accommodating Imperial tastes – or worse, the fear of repercussions.

The vendor kids seemed not to mind. Perhaps they were too young to know anything other than their own truth. It’s a hopeful thought.

“I just. Lost my spice tolerance, that’s all,” Leia responds after gulping down half the bottle. She sets the bottle down between them and proceeds to finish off her meal. “I can earn it back tonight.”

“You’re still eating it?”

“Definitely. I’m starved and it tastes  _good_. I’ll be fine. Mamá didn’t raise a quitter.”

Cassian nods serenely, wiping his fingers off on a napkin. “Alright, well, I need something sweet after this, so once you’re done-” He eyes an ice cream vendor across the avenue, standing up to tossing his plate into a nearby compost bin.

“We can go now,” Leia interjects, adopting a magnanimous tone. “I can walk and eat.”

Cassian nods, raising his eyebrows. “Okay. Definitely. I can wait for you-”

“No, no, go ahead, you’ve finished,” Leia says to his completely impassive face, ever the diplomat.

Cassian tilts his head at her, the poster child of innocence. “I can wait for you to finish, love, I’m not in a rush.”

She crumbles. “Cass,” she whines, “okay, you win, I need ice cream, let’s go.”

* * *

Leaving the second vendor behind, Leia’s bag is lighter by a few credits. With a stick of flavoured condensed milk in each hand, freed from their icy prison, Cassian waits for Leia to finish her plate. Cassian’s is a pistachio green, and after the chillies Leia’s opted to move away from the colour and chose a mango yellow.

He feels absolutely ridiculous. 

Ambling along a cobblestone path, under the light of too many stars to count, without care for enemies watching their backs, to a room he shares with the sole heiress of Alderaan, the figurehead of the Rebellion…

Those titles don’t suit the woman who walks with her arms linked in his. As equals and as friends, as if they hadn’t carried the galaxy on their shoulders. Licking at ice creams as if they’re children.

Cassian can’t remember if they had ice cream on Fest. Too cold, he thinks, mind wandering to warmer choices. Hot coca and blankets, warm fires and dances.

Beside him, Leia pulls her scarf close.

“Cold?”

Leia shakes her head.

“Don’t be stubborn.” It’s likelier a rancor would listen than Leia, but he tries. He’s done with his treat, and still feeling the warmth of dinner, shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around Leia’s shoulders.

“How chivalrous of you.”

He shakes his head, mirth building in his chest. “I do my best.”

Leia nibbles at her ice cream, and Cassian turns his attention elsewhere. At the star systems above – he thinks he might see Alderaan, its light still touching them this far across the galaxy, this long after its demise.

He doesn’t point it out to her. Some kindnesses only orphans of war know to give.

Cassian’s gaze flickers over to her. She’s looking up as well, at the same patch of sky, and of course she’d search for them whenever she could. Of course. She’d been nineteen when she lost her home, almost twice his age.  

“Lei,” he murmurs.

Her cleaned ice cream stick falls into the nearest trash with a soft thunk.

“They had stalls like these on Aldera. By our home. I’d sneak out for midnight snacks.”

“Senator Organa’s told me,” he says, referring to her father, not her, for the first time in years.

“I had a feeling he knew.”

“He said he did the same as a child. Must be in your blood.”

Leia stares at him.

“That wasn’t a slip of the tongue, Lei. They’re your parents.”

She sighs. “They are.”

In the distance, the chirping of nighttime creatures slowly fades into the roar of speeders abovehead. The stars return to the cover of towering buildings, and nighttime fades into city lights. It’s as if the idyllic peace has passed over them in exchange for the bustle of everyday living.

He feels he should be cold, but he isn’t.

Cassian’s slowing learning to allow himself to want things. Allow himself to  _have_  things, to ask for them. Like this moment, and the next. Living instead of surviving, taking chances that aren’t about war and duty.

“You’re thinking too loud, Cassian,” Leia’s voice worms into his thoughts.

“I wasn’t thinking about much.”

“Really? You? Who are you and where’s Cassian?” He’s washed in relief at her teasing, at her bright smile.

“Right here,” he murmurs, pulling her to him in a daring rush. “If you’ll have me.”

He waits for her to loop her arms around him before kissing her in the shadows of an awning. Speeders rush about overhead, and Cassian feels the thud of music from a nearby party against his feet. It could as well be his own heartbeat, he isn’t sure and doesn’t care.

It ends when a chorus of young voices hoots and whistles. Cassian pulls away, startled. Leia grins.

“You’ve gotten bold, now, pulling moves in public? What happened to the chivalry?”

Cassian shrugs, heart still racing from their discovery. “I only said I was doing my best.”

* * *

“You’re very adorable when you’re flustered like that,” Leia murmurs, once they’re in the safety of their room. Safety, not from bugs and assassins, but from drunk teenagers and nighttime wind.

“You don’t find me adorable normally?” Cassian huffs, ego falsely bruised.

“I do,” she drawls, stepping to cup his cheeks. Curse his skin, for blushing so furiously at her touch.

She kisses him hard. Cassian tastes sweet mango and allows himself to forget all else but her warmth.

Not so bland of a day, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon asked “You say that every time, and it never happens.”

"Oh come on,” Leia huffs, turning around to face Cassian with an armful of laundry. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy tea with Bodhi and Luke last month.”

Cassian rubs his jaw, an action Leia would call absentminded on anyone else. With her, it’s purposeful. Little tics he’s forced himself to show in the long journey from a life where emotions were stored behind masks and unblinking military posture kept him out of death’s grasp. “I did, but you said  _peaceful_ , and that wasn’t as  _peaceful_  as the term  _tea_ might suggest.”

Leia’s lips cave first, curling into that smile she dons whenever she’s amused at Artoo’s antics, or Wicket’s latest idea of what she should be wearing. Cassian delivers his blow with all the tactical genius of a rebel agent who once lived as an Imperial officer, and all the gentleness of a feather falling in sunlight. 

Her amusement reaches her eyes, and they sparkle. Her reaction coaxes a smile from Cassian that warms her from across the hold. 

She ducks, tucking the clothes away in their luggage, but is keenly aware of him moving across the tight space. She hears the faint zipping of him tugging at fasteners, checking their stowed equipment.

“It’ll be  _nice,_ Cassian. Just us.” No well-meaning friends, no distant relatives, no dignitaries to please. No intel to acquire or treaties to sign.

Just them.

_It’ll be peaceful,_ she’d said, but now Cassian’s reaction makes her think differently. He’s only gently teased her and their penchant for attracting chaos, but it’s enough to set her thinking as she folds their clothes. 

Just them, with no goals, no purpose, no distractions. Just each other.

It’s something a younger version of herself would daydream of, just her and the handsome, bright-eyed boy her father was so fond of. It was lonely, being surrounded by luxuries she didn’t care for and ‘friends’ who didn’t care about her. Cassian was everything she wanted to be. She’d wanted to pick his brain so desperately, wanted to know how he’d managed to do all the ‘cool things’ her papa remained tight lipped about, why he was so good with a blaster.

Now she knows why, and part of her wishes her childhood self held on to her innocence much longer.

The rest of her knows that innocence depended on the loss of Cassian’s. She’d lose that innocence soon enough, and in exchanged learned some luxuries she’d taken for granted. 

Now it’s just them, alone, with all their shared burdens, secrets, horrors. Two orphans lost in the galaxy, finding companionship in being beasts of burden - of expectations, of hopes, of ghosts.

When was the last time they’d been alone, without a goal or exhaustion to claim their thoughts? What had they done? 

They’d had nightmares. She’d wake with cries of planet-shattering green. He’d suppress tremors that still somehow shook her awake. 

A faint sigh escapes her.

“Lei?” 

She straightens, and bumps right into Cassian’s chest. Startled, she drops the pack of clothes with a thud.

Leia moves to grab it but instead feels Cassian’s hand on her arm. Not gripping her, never, but a gentle touch that leaves warmth rippling through her skin.

“Hey. I… I appreciate what you’re doing, yeah?” His thumb skims across the fabric of her dress. “We’ll do our best to have a good time.”  _You deserve it,_  he thinks. More than he ever will. More than he’d allow himself, but for her, he’ll try. “A peaceful time,” he adds with a small, wry smile. 

He lifts his hand off her arm. 

“I just…” her shoulders slip forward, a rarity for a woman who’s built a lifetime on maintaining poise and grace even in the worst of situations. “I just want you to feel…”

Her voice trails out, not sure how to verbalize the emotions twisting her tongue. Safe? Safe was unlikely. The man still slept with a blaster within reach, still double checked locks and wore longsleeves on the hottest of days. Relaxing was out of the question.

Happy…. Leia liked to think she made him happy. If not  _forget_  his duties and burdens, she hoped her companionship lessened their impact. He did for her. 

_Peaceful,_  then, like she’d originally said.

Peace was elusive, both in frequency and definition. The silence between skirmishes was peaceful, the eye of Hoth’s hurricanes similarly peaceful. Alderaan’s destruction, in the vacuum of space, was silent. Her prison, too, was quiet.

She feels Cassian’s gaze on her stiffened back. 

She knows his silences are often filled with hidden terrors. A silent Cassian is one who’s slipping out of his body, either to hide his thoughts or his reaction to them. 

Perhaps peace wasn’t silence, then. 

Peace may be one of Luke’s many students slamming into a table at full speed and spilling Cassian’s tea all over Bodhi’s mech arm, resulting in a lesson on repairing fried machinery and dinner etiquette. Peace might be another caf-fueled night of planning, with Cassian and Leia hunched over their respective datapads, laughing at jokes only funny after the midnight hour. Peace may be lying in the aftermath with Cassian’s heart thrumming under her ear.

After all, peace is what they’d paid so dearly for. And Leia can’t imagine any of this happening in a galaxy without peace. 

Cassian’s too quiet, now, the only indicator of his presence the warmth flowing in the space between them. Leia turns slowly, seeking out his hands at his sides, and grips them. 

“I’ll try,” he murmurs in response. When she looks up, he’s gazing intently at her. 

“It’ll be peaceful,” she repeats, and Cassian tilts his head. “Not necessarily  _quiet,_  but peaceful.” 

Cassian presses his lips together, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. “I think that’s a far more reasonable goal.” 

Leia grins. “I’m glad you approved of the mission objective, Cassian.” 

It’s already too late when Leia realizes his arms are now around her waist.

“I say we start right now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ship this (or any other ship you know I like) please shoot me a prompt over on tumblr @cassianandorjyn :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon requested "Baisemain - A kiss on the hand." I got carried away.

Leia is a Princess. She speaks like one, thinks like one, acts like one. She does not feel like one. 

Her pursuits are of the kind the children of Alderaan’s old families and the Empire’s wealthiest, turn their noses at. Sometimes she might find company with one who doesn’t mind dirtying the hems of their dress, or likes to shoot a blaster, or wishes to do charity for the poor. But digging deeper unearths nothing but fancies of spun gold. 

Fancies that, once Leia holds them to the light, dissolve to ash.  Her contemporaries are intelligent and dangerous, sweet as poison, but they stir nothing within her.

Leia’s heart retreats beyond a tangle of sickly sweet lies. She cries for those who hurt. Her cries turn to sparks.

Her parents teach her to wield a pretty face while acting with your hands behind your back. Imperial luxuries mean nothing to her, she insists, mother’s blood singing in her veins. Her people are her true wealth, and her life is her greatest gift to them.

Leia thinks she’s better than the simple fancies of princesses. But she knows how to use them. Heels give height and can become a weapon in a cinch. Dresses conceal both body and weaponry. Dresses of white for her pure, public face. Dresses of twinkling gold, red satin, and deep purple to enchant, to fluster, to distract. Dresses of forest green, sky blue, and shining silver to show pride for her homeworld. For her people.

Gloves are a signal of elegance, her aunts say. Leia recalls the advice that accompanied the gift as one of her attendants fetches the pair of silken gloves.  She resists the urge to shove her hands in and get it over with. Somebody has to repair ripped seams - last time, it was her. Her outbursts and distaste have consequences.

Bracing for the ordeal of fitting her forearm into the suffocating fabric, she wishes instead for the gloves she dons to clean the stables once a month, the ones that leave streaks across her forehead when she wipes away sweat beading under Alderaan’s midday sun. Or the black gloves of the Tantive’s captain, with their iridescent scales that catch Leia’s eyes.

In the mirror, her reflection sighs.

She’s not a fan of this ball in particular, and expects to spend the entire evening waiting for the blissful time of night when the stench of rotting old men is cleared from their ballroom and only her closest friends and Alderaani entourage remains. She’ll get Tsabin to dance with her, and watch if Winter will finally take Sofia for a spin around the fountain.

But her focus catches on something else.

The air sings around him. It’s the first thing she notices once she’s settled in her seat. 

The second thing she realizes is nobody else seems to see him. She’s not too off put by it - even her parents aren’t as irritated with the distinct Imperial scent  as she is. 

This is different, though.  


She can’t spare him many glances, not with so many vying for the Princess’ hand. Not that she cares to entertain them, but it would not bode well to step on someone’s toes or address a Senator by the wrong name. 

So it’s in whirling blurs that she glimpses the dark blues of his Alderaani uniform. An aide. Her father’s aide.

A new addition. Young, but a little older than her. He stands stock still at the side of the room, close enough for her father to call on him, far enough to not be a hindrance. A junior attendant, perhaps. Except his eyes don’t glaze over like the others. He doesn’t shuffle his feet, doesn’t slouch against the wall.

A perfect military posture Leia could never achieve.

Another spin around with a representative from Scipio takes her closer to her subject of interest. 

He hasn’t looked at her once. 

In the entire ballroom, only his eyes are away from her. Not a single flicker to take in the sparkles of her pale blue gown. Not a single curious glance - benign or malicious - at the girl who might be Senator when she’s older.

Nothing. He’s studying every detail of this ball. Except her. 

It made no sense. If he was absorbing as much information as he could, why not her? He’d have to deal with her someday, as his princess or his employer’s daughter. It’s as if the patterned napkins plopped on the table before him are more interesting than her.

It’s when numbers have dwindled and she’s allowed to sit again that her exhaustion quells long enough for her to think. 

He doesn’t care. 

For some reason, she cares.

Later, the palace attendants come to bid their goodbyes. He bows, stiffly and his mouth works around greetings, and his face shows no contempt or derision. Leia knows, though.

He thinks she’s irrelevant. Oh, she recognizes that look in his eyes. The way his features arrange themselves feel familiar on her own face. It brings bile to her throat.

He sees a princess. 

An Imperial princess dancing on broken backs and piles of bones. Who whirls and twirls in colours stripped from now-barren landscapes. Her heart screams that no, she’s different. 

Her mind knows better.

He sees right through her, to who she really is.

She is a Princess.

* * *

It takes a year for the seething to subside. 

Anger finds her more quickly these days, the path worn down over time. Years and years of stuffing her feelings down her throat, bleeding raw and choking air out of her lungs. The fury wasn’t new. The direction is.  


For the first time, her anger had turned inwards. To herself, to her own delusions that couldn’t hold a candle to the heat of an  _aide’s_ scorn. Her newfound rage burnt her out from the inside, leaving behind a starbird in the ashes, ready to take on the galaxy.

Another year passes before she forms an unlikely friendship with Aach. The aide. 

Somehow she senses her own anger in him. 

It didn’t make sense until she learned he left behind a world ravaged by war for hers, where war is reenacted on beautiful stages as shards of history long gone. 

Aach’s is a muted rage, buried deep within. It pales in comparison to Leia’s. Hers bubbles just under the surface, provoked by a single misstep and outbursts lasting for days on end. Not Aach, reigned in by a discipline she can barely achieve. 

It’s there, though, because he’s the only one who can keep up with her fury. With the answers to all her questions, the thunder to her lightning. They match, toe to toe, and if Aach ever stumbles it’s because he wasn’t born Alderaani or because Leia misjudged their height difference and stepped on his well-shined boots. 

It would be improper for him to ask for her hand, and it would be feed for the tabloids if she chose him over her esteemed guests. She has to wait, wait until the guests have all filtered out. She’s getting too old to be dancing with aides and maids, Leia’s reminded, but she shrugs the suggestions off.

The blissful late hours bring livelier dances, and this time Aach’s eyes linger nowhere but on hers. She supposes it’s a sight to behold, her in deep reds fading to orange at the hems, and him in the blue depths of Alderaan’s oceans, moving together in perfect time.  She loses herself in the rhythm, almost sad to rejoin hands with Winter once the music switches to a new beat, a new partner. She can’t have favourites, after all. But she does.

Winter is smart, lovely, and the closest of her friends, but Aach feels like an extension of her own skin, separated by far too many layers.

Eventually the music fades. When there’s no longer an excuse for a Princess to linger, Aach pulls away. The last connection is at their hands - joined, for an instant, as Aach’s gaze remains transfixed on hers. Wondering. 

“You were better than I expected,” Leia prods with a smile, before soothing: “thank you.”   


“The pleasure is all mine, your Highness,” he replies. Asking.

Leia raises her hand and holds the answer in her breath. Aach bows, and briefly presses his lips to the back of her hand.

For a moment, Leia wishes the gloves weren’t there. In this moment, her hands are bare, and they had more than a passing second. In the next, she brushes the fancy away as quickly as it surfaced, pushing away a blush that never forms. Never faltering.   


Then she smiles, and takes her leave.

She is no longer a little girl.

* * *

Rebellion comes to her, naturally.

It’s almost another label. Princess, daughter, spy. Almost, if lives weren’t on the line. She’s almost gotten used to these planet-shattering stakes, would almost grow numb if Cassian’s steady warmth didn’t hold her in check.

Cassian, Aach’s birth name - the exhilaration of finally being allowed to act comes with the sting of falsehood. Not at him, but at fate. Part of her desperately wishes he’d been the Alderaani aide he said he was. Not a spy. Not a spy she could order, not one who delivers reports with a broken gaze.

Her anger at the galaxy’s unfairness takes a new form and threatens to consume her whole. 

There were bits and pieces of solace. People  _had_  to listen to her but they  _wanted_ to listen to Cassian - his rank, his experience. She watches and learns. When people made the mistake of assuming her naive, her shadow falls into place behind her. And when she makes the mistake of being naive, her shadow becomes a mirror, showcasing all her flaws.

But she wants more than a shadow, more than a mirror. She has plenty of supporters and plenty of critics. She just needs someone to stand  _with_  her, rain or shine. Even if he was buried in a cover on the other end of the galaxy.

“I would lay down my life at your single word,” Cassian replies, when she asks. He’s wearing Alderaani blue again, and they’re alone in the cabin, ready to disembark. “Gladly and without protest.” Leia’s insides churn at the hard realities of the rebellion, and she tugs her flight gloves on to distract herself. “But I would not hesitate to… eliminate any threat to the safety and security of our cause, no matter whose form they took.”

That piques her interest. She raises an eyebrow.

“Even me?” Leia spent a lifetime, back on Alderaan, training to avoid becoming the very failure Cassian hinted at. A path to compromising the Rebellion was unlikely to unfold before her, but curiousity nags her nonetheless. 

“Anyone, your Highness. Though your loss would severely impact the morale and function of… those who see you as a leader, as an inspiration.” Cassian ducks his head. Leia wonders if his mouth will form the words  _including myself._  


He does not.

“I would spend more time seeking alternatives, if it were you, yes. We can’t lose you.”  An acquiescence. Not enough. It wasn’t an I.  _I can’t lose you._ Did Cassian care for her outside of her role in the Rebellion - as an asset in the Senate, as a figurehead? 

Did the Cassian who shyly kissed her hand years ago even exist?  


She almost wants to smile at the agony of it all. It’s time to leave, and she has more questions than answers. Leia’s lips pull down, almost into an impressed frown. Adopting the tone of a haughty core Princess, she asks him: “You do realize who you’re talking to?” 

Cassian’s gaze ticks upwards, with a slight press of his lips she could call a smile. 

“Absolutely, your Highness. It is why my tongue runs freely.”  


Leia almost gasps. But there’s an admission wrapped in those words, and that is far greater a victory than if he’d said he thought her a suitable leader, spoken any of the words from her fantasies. 

He thinks of her more highly, more closely, than any of her hopes.

If a man trained to lie and conceal even on the edge of dying admits he can speak freely around her - even as they head to the heart of the Empire - then that is worth more than any trinket, any accolade. 

It’s a thrill that won’t fade away for a long time. It’s a thrill that gives her enough courage to peck Cassian on the cheek. She expects to duck away to leave him in surprised silence, but he’s grabbed her hand. 

Leia glances at it, but doesn’t tug it away. A heartbeat passes, and she looks up at him. The look in his eyes wasn’t ever leering, and isn’t disdainful anymore. Perhaps it’s mischief, but Leia read it as her own. Longing. 

He kisses her hand briefly before leaving her to sigh, and wonder why she’d donned her gloves so quickly.

* * *

She almost misses Yavin’s humidity. 

It almost hurts to think of how the stones were slick, as if the temple itself were perspiring. On the other end of the galaxy, at the other extreme, even walls of ice remain dry. 

It almost hurts to think at all, these days. After rushing around the galaxy, looking for a new home for the rebels, after spending weeks on end carving out a habitable base from Hoth’s ice and snow, after being chased out of that home with only their lives to spare - 

now, days of nothing.

Years of repressed grief hits her all at once, her internal dam collapsing under the weight of having nothing to do. 

There’s hardly any privacy on these ships, where personnel are packed shoulder to shoulder regardless of rank. But she’s grown up in tight spaces, knows where to find privacy if the galaxy depends on it - much less if she needs it.

So does Cassian. She wouldn’t be surprised to find him in this forgotten maintenance room if she had known he was on board. 

When his eyes meet hers she’s hit with a wave of longing. She’d never been one to focus solely on romance - the galaxy was far too big and too full of evils for that. Even so, she’s awash with memories of how seeing him brought out the idyllic parts of her, the girl she might’ve been if her parents hadn’t fought to keep her eyes wide open. Not that she would ever want to be that girl, even if it meant having something substantial with Cassian.

The look in his eyes says the same - if he ever wanted anything more than fleeting glances and passing touches. He’s never told her, but whenever his hands have brushed hers, Leia’s drowned in the sense that he does. Deep under the layers of the various formalities and dynamics that wedge them apart. Most of those are gone, now, anyways. A Princess with no kingdom, a rebel with no base hardly has power over the more experienced head of Intelligence.

In all honestly, most of what’s left is what they have in common. Two soldiers in the darkness, alone except for each other and the ghosts of all the people they’ve left behind. 

Cassian sits at the monitor of the sole console in the room, face washed in green. He used to stand as soon as she made an entrance, whether it was framed by her palace’s marble columns or by the doorway of Yavin’s war room. She doesn’t blame him for not doing it now - space in here is tight and Scarif has left him scarred. 

She doesn’t want him to. Especially if it means he’s leaving. 

The prospect of being alone with her thoughts is terrifying.

“Do you want to use this?”   


There’s no where else to sit except at the same console. She had an excuse, Leia remembers, to be here. Something to do. But all that’s flown out of her mouth, leaving her throat dry, trying to conjure a response. 

But now Cassian’s begun to stand. She fixes her eyes on a point just over his shoulder, unable to maintain eye contact and sparing him of being a spectator to his struggle using the chair as support. She aches, unable to name the source of the feeling, only knowing that it’s pooled in her stomach and tingles through her every vein. She’s not supposed to feel this way. But she can afford to, now. As a Princess without planet or people. 

The losses of Alderaan, Yavin, and Hoth have evened the playing field. She isn’t giving up on the Rebellion, of course, but she just might be losing grip on herself.

Cassian must know, because he’s avoided her recently, as if he knows straying too close will bring Aach back to life at her fingertips.

“Stay,” she asks. “Please?” It’s not an order, she thinks. Not from a princess to an aide, not from a commander to her soldier. Just a plea between friends - if friends felt guilt in being alone together.

“Do you need my help?” Cassian is used to direct orders, especially from no-nonsense Leia. But the only thing he can read between her two solitary words is something he doesn’t think she means.  


“I… want you here. If you’d like.” He’s right in front of her, now, standing just within reach. She’s careful not to block the doorway, both in actions and words giving him a way out. He steps forward.   


Out of reflex, she raises her hand.

He takes it. She expects him to lace their fingers together, already welcoming the familiarity of his calluses against her own. The part of him she knows best, grasping at in the shadows, passing intel, holding her steady. The part that’s mirrored on her own palms. But his grasp slips. Just a little. He won’t let go of her unless she asks. Cassian Andor keeps his promises.

Instead, his fingers curl under hers, thumb soft and firm over her hand as he raises it to his mouth, back straight and unbowing. Leia’s breath catches around a delight so sharp it cuts through all the pain as he presses his lips to her hand. Steady and firm and matched with a flick of his hooded eyes to meet her gaze. 

Somehow she’s placed a hand on his chest, as if he’s pulled her closer. She doesn’t remember stepping forward. When he says her name - just that, her name - she feels it under her palm. She thinks she must look like an idiot, openmouthed and gaping like a landlubber in space.

He seems to see something else between her parted lips, because the hand-kiss is followed by lighter pecks down her fingers. Unwittingly, she curls them into a fist. Cassian stops. 

Leia’s made a mistake. 

To rectify it, the hand on his chest slides up, thumb brushing his jaw, mirroring his thumb on her  wrist. 

She should say something, so he knows they’re on the same page. The words don’t come, though. They never have.

He doesn’t need them.

Leia brings Cassian’s face close to hers. He’s freed her hand to hold her around the waist, so she laces that hand through his hair. 

She’d like to know more of him. More than his callouses, his lips on her hands. More than just his hand in hers, or in her hair. Leia doesn’t hesitate in telling him these fancies, because they’re  safe in the darkest corner of the ship, far away from where they’ll disintegrate in the light. She hopes, one day, they’ll be strong enough to face any fire.

Now, there are no gloves between them. 


End file.
